Page 75 of Whiskey and Regret
“I told you what it is, Xari. I was studying you.”
“No.” Her fluffy curls swished back and forth when she shook her head. “It’s passion. You come to life when you talk about writing. It’s so fucking sexy.” She nipped at my lips and my hands automatically squeezed her ass. “Why are you a senator if your heart is in writing?” Her plump lips fell into a frown.
“My family has been in the senate for a long time. I can’t destroy generations of progression like that.”
“Have you at least published your books? I mean if you have to be stuck doing something you hate…you can at least do what you love on the side.”
“No. It doesn’t work like that,” I laughed.
“You mean to tell me you’ve never published your books?” Her wide brown eyes were confused.
“Nah. I can’t have my name associated with the kind of books I write. I’m working for the greater good. Being in the senate helps me help others.”
“That’s bullshit.” She paused and brought her fingers to her lips. “That’s what you’re burying. Your passion.” She climbed off my lap and I dropped my head to the back of the couch with a groan. I already knew she was about launch into a speech. I finished my whiskey in preparation for it.
“I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. You regret being forced into something you hate.”
“Hate is a strong word, Xari. Being a senator isn’t my first choice but…”
“But you hate it. You have to publish your books, Evander.”
“No. Even under a pen name, it would be traced to me,” I balked.
“How? Tell me how with a pen name people would still know you were the author?” Her hands were anchored to her hips and passion roared like the ocean around her. It crashed against me in unavoidable waves, calling to the ocean of passion in me.
I stood and walked closer to her. “We live in the age of the internet, Xari. Nobody stays anonymous forever. I would have to pay someone else to be my pen name. They’d get to take credit for the books I’ve written. The worlds I created. The words I bled on the fucking page. I’d rather keep it all to myself than to hand it over to someone else.”
We stood face to face breathing in tandem. When she exhaled, I inhaled. We went back and forth. A silent war.
Finally, she said, “It’s your entire life. Of course you don’t want to hand it over.” Her expression softened and she came closer, reaching up to touch the side of my face. “You can’t keep drinking like this to keep the regret at bay either, Evander. Be who you want to be. Not who your family wants you to be.”
“It’s not that cut and dry for me. I’m Senator Evander Freeman from a long line of Freemans who have done exactly what I’m doing right now. How is being an author helping thousands of people? I have a duty to help.”
“Did you really ask me how being an author can help thousands?” Her laugh was light and riddled with disbelief. “Being an author can helphundredsof thousands, Evander. You never know who might read your words and be touched or inspired. Some of my happiest memories come from being curled up with a book by my favorite author.”
A knot formed and grew in my throat as I looked into her eyes. I wanted to experience even half the excitement Xari was steeped in. She didn’t understand the practical side of things though. She was a flame. Of course she didn’t mind burning bridges and finding her own direction. I wasn’t a flame.
I was earth. I was there to help others grow. I was there to give foundations and become whatever was needed of me.
“I can’t strike out on my own. My father groomed me since I was a kid to be in politics. It’s all I know.”
“Not true. Writing is all you know. Politics is what was forced down your throat until the taste became palatable. Now you dull the flavor of regret with whiskey every night while you quietly stoke the weak flames of your passion in the background. Hidden.” She folded her arms and shook her head. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
My jaw flexed and my lips turned to immovable stone. I couldn’t talk because she demanded the truth and anything I opened my mouth to say would be a lie. I couldn’t tell her that I loved politics because I didn’t. I did it on autopilot.
I did love writing though. I lived and breathed it once I was off the clock as Senator Freeman. The thought of writing for a living made something burn in my belly. It was the bright glowing thing I’d tried my best to bury under pounds of denial.
“Exactly. You can’t because you know I’m right.”
“I can’t drop everything to be a writer. I’d have to resign from the senate and…” I scratched my head at the thought then let my words fade away.
“And what? Nobody has ever in the history of the senate left their spot.”
“Nobody in my family, Xari. We were amongst the first black people in politics. Do you know how heavy that expectation is? My father would kill me where I stand if I told him I wanted to leave and pursue writing. In the real world, we do things we don’t like doing. This is the real world.”
Her eyes narrowed and her arms turned to wooden planks. Straight and stiff at her side. “And in the real world, you can do whatever the fuck you want to do. Especially someone like you who already has money, time, and resources. Nothing is stopping you from being what you’ve always wanted to be.”
“Look, I appreciate the support.” I curled my fingers around her slender wrist and tugged her closer to me. I hated the distance between us. “I’m fine writing my books and keeping them to myself. I don’t hate my life.”
